


Like This

by isitandwonder



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault, Ancient History RPF, Ancient Persian RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bagoas is vulnerable, Because can Bagoas really choose?, Cultural Differences, First Time, First Time Topping, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV First Person, Topping from the Bottom, in Bagoas past, inspired by The Persian Boy, please ignore the movie when reading this, referenced Alexander/Hephaistion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26219020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: It is springtime in Zadrakarta and Bagoas, new to Alexander's court and somewhat anxious to find his footing, is determined to seduce his king no matter what. After all, it's his purpose to serve the ruler of the empire. And without a powerful protector the  young, beautiful eunuch is in real danger to become the plaything of anyone who claims him... but somehow, Alexander seems reluctant to return his advances. So, will these two eventually get together?
Relationships: Alexandros III of Macedon | Alexander the Great/Bagoas favorite of Alexander the Great
Comments: 17
Kudos: 18





	Like This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leili](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leili/gifts).



> Bagoas deserves so much love! Despite everything that was done to him, he preserved the beauty of his soul, his pride, and his dignity.
> 
> This story is different from how their first time is described in the book. Which is somewhat opaque. I let my fantasy run wild.
> 
> This story is for my dear friend Saba, who introduced me to The Persian Boy and opened a new world for me! Thank you so much, this novel will stay with me forever!
> 
> Title from a [poem](https://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/blog/2020/03/13/mevlana-jelaluddin-rumi-like-this/) by Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi:  
>  _If someone asks,_  
>  _“What does perfect beauty look like?”_  
>  _Show him your own face and say,_  
>  _Like this_

The weather in Zadrakarta was always mild, being so close to the sea. After what I'd been through lately, once again staying at a palace with all its amenities and luxury – even as it seemed a bit dusty here due to lack of royal use - was utter bliss. 

The airy courtyards surrounded by elegant pillars smelled of a salty breeze and early blossoming citrus trees. This gave me the chance to show off my new clothes I got after the javelin incident – colourful embroidered trousers and a matching long-sleeved sarapis made from fine cloth, over which I wore a bright full-length vest reaching down to my sued shoes. I finally felt like myself again

I hoped those gaudy colours would catch Alexander's eye. He'd really noticed me for the first time in that courtyard when his squires had tormented me (before that, I had merely been Darius' boy to him). But there he'd said that I looked more like a man than these young Macedonian nobles did. I could still hear his voice in my head.

I wanted to hear him praise me again.

To call me a man.

Not a boy. Or worse.

I came from a lineage of warriors, after all. Thank be Ahura Mazda that my father didn't have to see his son like this – an emasculated courtier, begging for crumbs of attention from a barbarian king, eyes painted with khol, hands soft because I was only ever handling wine cups and not proper weapons.

But what could I do? I had to survive, employing the meagre means at my disposition. I had to make the best of what was left for me.

But my feelings for Alexander weren't just outright opportunistic. Sure, securing the affection of the new Great King could only advance my position at court – but, strangely, that wasn't my whole motivation.

His behaviour I'd witnessed since I'd joined his baggage train had started to unravel my prejudices. Before, I'd thought the Greeks – and Macedonians – savages. But Alexander acted almost noble. As far as I could tell, he was just, brave, and honest; all three traits sadly not necessarily features of the Persian ruling class.

And he had treated me like a human being. Not as a thing – however precious. He'd also allowed me to see his own humanity – his fatigue, his confusion, his bewilderment, his astonishment, his excitement. Sometimes he seemed like a small child to me, overwhelmed by all the toys offered to him. The toys being my fellow Persians and the riches of our culture and kingdom.

Being conquered did hurt – but it also felt refreshing to see the marvels of my country through Alexander's eyes. There was incomprehension – but there also was evident admiration and genuine wonder.

Maybe that was the reason he'd started to teach me Greek – and demand I teach him Persian in return? To get a better grasp of the world he was to govern?

No other conqueror I'd ever heard of had tried to assimilate our way of life. It was a stark contrast to what we've been told – that the Greeks were barbarians who'd only rape and slaughter and destroy everything.

Yet Alexander seemed different.

And, I have to admit it, after Darius, he also seemed rather attractive. I knew I shouldn't think like that. I couldn't afford to put too much stock into physical beauty when it came to my master (though, literally, I didn't belong to Alexander in the same way I'd belonged to Darius). But wasn't I lucky that he was young and fit – not middle-aged and flabby like the previous king? Or outright disgusting like the men I had to serve in Susa... as much as I desperately tried to forget them, my days as a whore still haunted me in this first spring with Alexander in Zadrakarta.

Maybe it was the uncertainty of my position at his court that brought back those memories? I lived in fear again – of the next day, of who I might meet at the end of a corridor, in an empty courtyard. Of poisonous whispers, venomous looks. Of being abandoned, left behind. On my own. I had no illusions left what that would mean for me.

The gossip of the squires was bad enough. True, they recently left me be and never dared to touch me again, but inside those awful Macedonian latrines – simply a long ditch that I had been forced to use while in camp – they openly stared at me, mocked me, laughed at me. And talked about my anatomy, loud enough for anyone to hear.

Some of Alexander's companions weren't behaving much better, eyeing me with blatant aversion when I served him at table, snickering at my courtly refinement. Others were openly hostile, not touching food or drink I handed them.

Alexander ignored it. Who was I, after all, but a native servant? If not outright a thing or a slave, then surely nothing more important than a commodity. Maybe a curiosity he liked to show off now and then.

Spoils of war.

But nothing to start a fight over with his men, whose support he wanted and needed.

Yet my only chance of staying alive and maybe even prosper in these strange times was to please him, amuse him, to make myself silently indispensable. So, sitting close to him as he read to me from his Greek books and scrolls, I kept my head bowed in submission, making myself small for him.

Only speaking when I was spoken to, as I'd been taught by Oromedon what seemed a lifetime ago but was barely four years.

Never initiating anything; passive, yet always listening, trying to read him, to learn him and his foreign ways.

Feeling his impatience, but being unable to overcome my inner inhibitions. I'd been conditioned to be quiet, to attend to my masters needs without opposition, to read his mind and anticipate what he could want before he even knew it.

That had helped me to survive over three years in Darius' service. And now, at a different court, with unknown rules, of course I fell back on my training.

Only, that was not what Alexander wanted.

As much as I was shocked witnessing the almost rude familiarity with which his friends and companions treated him – I quickly learned that this was the behaviour he was used to. Anything else seemed artificial to him, and he suspected lies and treachery (not without foundation). He didn't like people who told him what he wanted to hear. Above all else, he appreciated honesty and truth, even if it hurt, as long as it was spoken with genuine love.

All this was a hard lesson for me to learn, being used to flattery, intrigue and duplicity.

Because – how honest could a Persian like me be in the presence of our new ruler? What protection could I expect? I was an outcast even in my own culture. Well, not outright an outsider, but I hovered at the fringe of respectable society, and the scales could drop either side – vizier or vice.

What did Alexander see in me?

It was true, me and Alexander were sitting close during our time alone, teaching each other words in our mother tongues – but he never touched me. Since I'd been twelve, I'd been used to being desired – in different stages of aggressiveness, from longing stares to brutal physical abuse. But with him it was... nothing of that kind. Yes, Alexander looked at me. He talked to me. We laughed together, after I shed some inhibitions. But all this wasn't... loaded with anything passionate. It was just natural.

Were we becoming... friends? That couldn't be. As little as Alexander gave for protocol – being friends with a Persian eunuch, a conquered subject neither man nor woman, would go too far even for him.

So I waited like a lamb to the slaughter – for him either dropping me, getting bored, chasing me away; or for him to make a move, demand my services not just as an interpreter, but in the bedroom as well, pleasuring him when his true lover was indisposed.

Hephaistion.

I am not blind. Neither am I stupid. I knew whom Alexander desired. I just wasn't sure in which capacity. What they had seemed to go beyond casual friendship. But also beyond casual physical relations. Obviously, I was aware what men did with other men in bed. Only, what Alexander and Hephaistion had seemed to be so much more. It wasn't just about instant gratification or an surrogate for being with a woman. It went so much deeper.

So deep that I came to doubt the physical side of it.

Because I was there in the mornings when they woke together – naked, yes, as the barbarians are used to sleep, but entangled somewhat chaste, like brothers. There was undeniably true love between them but it somehow didn't seem to digress into lovemaking...

I was equally at a loss as it spurred me on.

Because whatever people may say now, Alexander wasn't a god, far removed from all human desire. I bathed him, fed him, tended to him in every way possible. I was quite aware of his humanity. And humans need affection; they have to work off physical energy. And when Alexander wasn't fighting, or founding new cities – he was but a man. With all the base physical needs of his sex.

As no woman seemed to interest him – neither as whore, concubine, or wife – I had long suspected the rumours being true; that Alexander only liked boys. And as he shared a bed with Hephaistion often... well...

But there were no tell-tale signs. Believe me, I know what to look for, to determine what went on in someone's bed.

When I sometimes caught Hephaistion's gazing at Alexander the look on his face was that of solemn resignation. Deep love, yes, but mixed with the acceptance that it wasn't returned the way he wished.

I confess, I rejoiced.

Because if Alexander wasn't getting it from his best and oldest friend, and had no woman around to pleasure him – no one would stand in my way. I only had to figure out how to seduce him.

Though I'd never seduced anyone before.

Least a barbarian king.

Of course, I'd heard a few things about the Greeks and their habits. But then Macedonians weren't real Greeks. Who knew what customs they observed when it came to mating?

But then, there are only so many possibilities for two men to share each others bodies...

I bade my time, waited, observed... and then, one evening, I decided to act.

That night, I attended to Alexander at a banquette with some local Persian nobles. He was a bit moody throughout, distraught despite making an effort to hide it. Maybe it was because another letter from his mother had arrived that afternoon? He'd read it with Hephaistion looking over his shoulder, frowning.

These letters always affected Alexander, that much I had learned already. No wonder, as people called Olympias a sorceress behind his back... who knew what curses were woven into her long epistles?

Now, I was aware that his eyes drifted over to where I was serving wine, and that his stare lingered.

I felt Alexander's intense gaze between my shoulder blades like a physical touch as one of the younger Persians made a gesture towards me, beckoning me over. I went, wine carafe in one hand, a plate with candied figs in the other. When I was standing close, he made a show of choosing a fruit, raised it to my lips and demanded I taste it first before putting the rest into his own mouth. He had a cruel smile on his lips, and his dark eyes twinkled mischievously. 

I hoped he would send me away but instead he made a gesture so I had to bend even closer, and started to whisper in my ear: “Your beauty and grace is wasted on these barbarians. My father used to buy gems from Datis. I remember you from Susa. I've heard a lot of things about you. You think the new king would give you to me if I asked?”

I wanted to leave, to take a step back. The mention of my previous owner's name and all it implied made my stomach twist. Yet my status as a servant forced me to stay where I was.

But I couldn't stop turning my head away to escape his lewd grin. His hand grabbed my wrist to draw my attention back. “Not so fast, Bagoas. Obares would tell us how pliant you were, how well you took him. Aren't you here to please the guests, Bagoas?”

Obares. I still remembered his stink. I could almost smell it now. Shaken by the memory and the iron grip to my arm, I dropped both the carafe and the silver plate of figs. Wine splashed everywhere, soaking my new trousers, as the metal shattered loudly onto the floor. Suddenly, all eyes were on me and the young noble.

I felt myself blush and started to twist in his grip, to prostrate myself and beg forgiveness for my mishap. But he wouldn't let go. The expression in his eyes turned mean.

He raised his voice as he spoke: “Look at this clumsy, insolent thing making a fool of himself and all of us Persians-”

Right then, a shadow fell over his face and he let quickly go of me. I sank to my knees, ending up in a pool of wine red as blood, and started to tidy up the mess I'd made, reaching for the sticky fruit glued to the tiled floor. But a touch to my shoulder stopped me.

“Get up, Bagoas, this wasn't your fault. Someone else can clean this up. Take a cup of wine and sit on my couch while I walk your... young friend out.”

Alexander's voice sounded crisp and firm, bearing no resistance. Without looking back, I staggered to my feet and hurried over to his couch, on which sat a half eaten dish – and Hephaistion, who moved to make room for me.

I lowered myself slowly, eyes cast down, aware of my dishevelled state and how inappropriate it all was. But Hephaistion didn't seem to mind and asked me questions about the history of Zadrakarta, so I had no choice but to turn to him and explain it as best I could. Yet my voice was trembling.

I talked and he listened, holding my gaze as if to distract me from what was happening down the hall. There were voices, murmurs, heads turned, then a quick shuffle of bodies, the sound of stomping feet. I heard a door close, shouts outside. Horses whinnying. A moment later, Alexander returned.

To my astonishment he walked up to his couch, smiling, and handed me a cup of strong wine. “I said drink. You look pale.”

I took a sip, too surprised to refuse. Then I remembered my place and stood up, though I should have thrown myself at his feet.

“Great King-”

“It's fine.” Alexander made a swift, nonchalant gesture to stop me. “He's gone. Finish your wine. Then you may leave to clean yourself up and... retire” He looked me straight in the eye. I was very much aware of Hephaistion's presence next to us. Yet he didn't say anything, just passed me a plate of fruit from which I took a date and absent-mindedly popped it into my mouth. Alexander nodded, still smiling, and moved on, talking to some consternated elders a few couches down.

I didn't know where to look. I didn't know what to say. I prayed to Mithra to open the ground and swallow me whole.

“It's fine, Bagoas. Just be good to him.” Hephaistion was standing behind me, leaning close, smelling of leather and sweat. Like a man. “He needs someone he can take care of. Allow him that, for a little while.”

My face was burning. “But... I'm just... I can't-.”

Hephaistion put his strong hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. “You can, and you will. Don't be afraid..” His gaze was serious, with no trace of jealousy. Once again, I wondered what bound them together.

“I only want to be good to him.”

An almost sad smile curled Hephaistion's lips. “Don't we all?” Then his touch was gone. I quickly emptied my cup, just bowing once in his direction before walking backwards out the hall. But he didn't mind me anymore as he was talking to another Macedonian general.

My head was light from the wine. It was true, Alexander had asked me to retire, but he had also looked at me in a way... and then Hephaistion's words...

I decided not to retreat to my chamber but to wait for Alexander in his rooms. 

The squire standing guard let me pass. Not without a sneer, but I didn't bother. After what Alexander had done in the hall, coming to my rescue, I felt untouchable by the young Macedonian's disrespect.

The room was only dimly lit. It got chilly at night, with damp air creeping in from the sea through the huge latticed windows, so I stoked the brazier next to the bed before admiring the richly embroidered counterpane. I was aware that in camp Alexander slept beneath rough rugs like his soldiers. But here the old eunuchs had insisted on a bedding fit for a king, so his precious body could rest between the finest linen.

I looked around the huge room to make sure I was really alone, peering into its dark corners. When I was sure that no one else was there, I started taking off my sarapis. Then I kicked off my shoes. Finally, I dropped my ruined trousers, standing naked next to the brazier, feeling the flames lick my smooth, hairless skin.

The cold air mixed with the sensation of the warm fire aroused me. True, what was left of my manhood was only that of a ten year old boy, but I still could feel a certain tingling. I'd been gelded, but not everything making me a man had been hacked off (as was done with the Nubian slaves, forcing them to wear high boots to catch the urine they simply couldn't hold any longer).

To put it plain, I still sported a tiny cock, like a little boy. No balls, though. My scrotum was empty and had been tightly stitched. I was able to get hard, even to experience an orgasm (Oromedon had showed me), though not really to ejaculate. Sometimes milky fluids were discharged in a state of arousal; but I had never felt the true state of sexual fulfilment. It often even hurt. Not the penetration itself – I'd gotten used to it, if done with some amount of care and the application of oil – but approaching the climax. I wasn't sure if some buried, almost forgotten memory of the gelding was still at play here, or if something hadn't healed right and still hurt when triggered during intercourse – but the pain was real. It pooled in my belly, my loins, made my thighs quiver and my breath hitch.

And still, I wanted.

Alexander.

Was that twisted? Maybe.

Were my reasons just passion and desire? Probably not. Duty was also at play here, a deep-rooted sense of obligation, gratitude, acquired habits.

Hephaistion almost ordering me to share Alexander's bed.

And what else had I to offer Alexander but my body? I couldn't join his army or give him sons to fight with him. I had no wealth at my disposition, no men, no castle, no land. I couldn't pledge my liege to him in any way profitable or otherwise worthwhile.

But I knew a lot when it came to bed a king, to take his troubles off him for just a few hours, make him feel cherished, important, larger than life. I'd obeyed every wish that had crossed Darius' mind, a beautiful vessel for him to use. Even as he'd been defeated on the battlefield – that would never happen in the bedroom. I'd let him dominate me in every way possible, surrendering my body. I'd let myself be conquered so he could feel a mighty warrior.

Now I thought Alexander was in great need of such an experience himself, considering the disrespect his troops and especially his friends showed towards him. Speaking to him as if he was one of them; touching him, laughing in his presence at their own jokes. Openly disagreeing, even arguing with him.

Hephaistion even read his private correspondence.

Not once did even the meanest soldier kneel for him, not to mention the prostration. They actually mocked us Persians for it. These barbarians knew no respect.

How Alexander tolerated the humiliation was beyond me. Yet it showed what a gracious ruler he was. Darius would have had them lashed until they showed the respect due to a king.

So the least I could do was to let Alexander experience the sweet taste of absolute power when it came to me and my body. This would also give me back a secure place within the royal household, one I was accustomed to and that offered as much safety as someone like me could hope for.

As all my subtle hints and looks hadn't paid off it was now time to apply bolder tactics. Despite Alexander's clemency I shouldn't forget that I was dealing with a barbarian. So I lay down naked on the embroidered bed covering, its beads and pearls pricking my back and buttocks. I draped one arm behind my head, spread out my long black hair to shine in the glow of the single brazier – and waited, my heart hammering in my chest. 

I'd never dared to expose myself so shamelessly at a Persian court – but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Men like the young noble were everywhere. How long until I would be forced to take them up on their offers? Or when would they stop asking and just take what they wanted, making me the whore they already saw in me?

Memories of Susa crept up on me again, and here, lounging naked on Alexander's bed in the pathetic hope he might be seduced by the sight of someone like me, there was nothing to distract me from them.

These old men touching me everywhere without even asking had made me physically sick. And the pain... the first time it must have been the sheer shock of what was done to me that had kept me quiet.

I was sure if I had screamed I wouldn't have left that house alive. And even if I had escaped – Datis would have sold me to a brothel, or worse, into some place where they'd first branded me or cut off my nose before working me to death.

I closed my eyes to stop myself from succumbing to self-pity. Alexander finding me all snotty and with red-rimmed eyes surely wouldn't do it for him.

I wondered how it would be with him. Would it hurt? Would he be quick and efficient as in war and administration? Chasing his climax so he could get on with another task already on his mind? Or would he like to draw things out, to enhance his satisfaction?

What would satisfy him? He didn't strike me brutal but I had learned to never judge someone from their appearance alone. Some people could hiding who they really were, and I was sure that Alexander often wore some sort of mask in public, like an actor.

And what did I know about their barbarian ways when it came to lovemaking? Some seemed to prefer very young boys... and then they ran around nude all the time, absolutely shameless. That didn't bode well for their preferences in bed.

Some of my customers in Susa had demanded filthy things from me they wouldn't have dared to ask a lover. Sick things. One or two had even enjoyed hurting me, beating me with a stick or their bare hands...

Would Alexander do something like that to me as well?

Suddenly, I heard a commotion outside in the corridor. Loud voices, Alexander's one of them as he bade his friends and the squire standing guard good-night.

I was still debating if I should pretend to be asleep when he outright crashed into the bedchamber, already divesting himself of parts of his spare clothing, the belt of his chiton already loose, throwing the short cape he'd worn right onto the bed.

Right onto me.

I must have made a sound of surprise for Alexander stopped dead in his tracks, looking ready to pounce onto any intruder hiding in the shadows.

I sat up quickly, covering my body with his cape.

“Bagoas? What are you doing here?” Alexander sounded bewildered and confused.

“I've been waiting for you, my king.” It didn't come out seductive at all, just small and embarrassed.

“But... why?” Just then did he seem to realize that I was naked. “Bagoas... I thought I'd explained myself back in camp, your first night with us.” He sounded gentle and a little tired as he sat down at the foot of the royal bed.

I remembered that night and how ashamed I had felt. He had not wanted me back then but time had passed and if I knew something it was to interpret the way men looked at me. And the way Alexander looked at me was with increasing interest, curiosity and longing. Yet it seemed something held him back.

“My king, you can have me. No one has to know.” I was sure he didn't want to know his fellow Macedonians that he took a Persian to bed. They were already muttering in discontent about the foreign ways he'd adopted. A Persian lover might have been too much for them to accept.

When he didn't move I dropped the cape to show him what was on offer. This body had already enchanted one Great King of Persia, it should be good enough for a barbarian like Alexander. 

He stayed utterly still as if made of ice, but his pale eyes darkened. What was the matter with this man? But maybe that was their custom in Macedonia? So I lay back, even spread my long, slim legs a little... 

“You can take me.” I whispered, swallowing my shame while my cheeks felt hot as if on fire. These barbarians were not responsive to the more subtle form of seduction, that much became clear. But if needs must, I would not stop from debasing myself like a common whore, even if something died inside me. My pride would not stand in the way of my survival.

I'd been well schooled to be a lover of kings. That was my purpose in life now.

And eventually, my efforts seemed to pay off, for I could feel Alexander move until he hovered above me, his strong arms bracketing my slender shoulders.

'Now.' I thought and closed my eyes, praying to Aka Manah to send me strength and spark desire within my king.

“Why are you doing this, Bagoas?” Alexander sounded as close to angry as I'd ever heard him. My eyes flew open.

“Because... because... I want to serve you. I love you, my king.” I stammered, pinned to the bed by Alexander's livid stare. I fell silent as he took my chin between his calloused thumb and forefinger.

“You love me?” His voice was hard.

“I want to bow to your magnificent strength, I am yours, I am nothing without you, my king...” I was babbling, too afraid of what might happen if I stopped talking.

“Did Darius succumb to this flattery?” Now his words were dripping with irony. I blushed even harder. Was Alexander enjoying my humiliation? I should have known that these barbarians were just like nasty animals.

“Darius at least behaved like a king. He would never-” I clasped my hand over my mouth. What had I just said?

But a slow smile lit up Alexander's face. “He would never what? Come on, Bagoas, I'd really like to meet the real you, not this servile palace lackey.”

As I was sure to have my throat cut anytime now – or whatever these people did with impertinent subjects – I let my bottled-up anger flow freely. 

“He would never have allowed to be disrespected the way your men disrespect you, Iskander. Darius' mother even took Hephaistion for the king! Shouldn't that make you think? You lack all pride and grace, your court is a mocking to any Persian used to the splendour and sophistication of a real royal court, your own people laugh about you and object to what you say, argue with you instead of obeying you – yet you Macedonians dare to call us Persians barbarians-”

I was shut up with a hard kiss to my lips. I was so surprised that I forgot to stay pliant and submissive and simply responded by parting my lips in return, clawing at Alexander's neck, his shoulders, not sure if I wanted to pull him closer or push him away.

In the end, it was him who broke the bruising kiss, his thumb stroking my throat. My lips tingled and I could still taste the wine he'd drunk on my tongue while his bright eyes stared down into mine.

“Are you quite finished?” He asked, but there was a novel note in his tone. It sounded almost as if he was looking forward to my answer, curious what I would say. As if he took me serious...

“Are you even aware that my people built an empire when your ancestors still herded sheep and lived in caves? You think you've conquered us, but give it time and you will see who turns out to be victorious. This war has barely just begun, Iskander.” If I was going to die I could at least go to the scaffold with my head held high, making my father proud of me.

“I like the way you think, Bagoas. I appreciate you finally spoke your mind.” I thought he would call the guard by now to lead me away – or would draw a dagger to finish me off himself, but instead he kissed me again while his rough hands started to roam my naked skin.

His lips left my mouth, sliding down my neck, my shoulders, my narrow, hairless chest... I lay still, unsure what was happening, if I should respond or keep quiet? If I was allowed to cherish his caresses or return them...

Eventually, Alexander stopped at my stomach, staring up at me from wide, wondrous eyes.

“I've never had someone like you. I don't know what you like. If you even can enjoy these things...?” He glanced down between my parted legs. No bush of hair hid my little cock, like a small boy's, on full display. His fingers started to stroke my hips, angular and slim, not supple and round like a woman's, but also not broad and muscled as a man's.

“It's not for you to pleasure me!” I said, totally dumbfounded by his questions. “Just take me. I'm spoils of war, your loot. Your gift from Nabarzanes.” I turned my face away, hiding my expression behind a curtain of hair. He might as well rape me before killing me. That was his right, after the way I'd spoken to him. I couldn't even blame him. I just hoped that whatever was coming for me, it would be over soon.

Yet instead of turning me over onto my stomach to get on with it, I felt Alexander sit up. Strong fingers brushed through my hair, combing it out of my face. “I was under the impression that you came to me on your own free will?”

“What free will can someone like me afford? I am fair game without a protector, a master. You've no idea what I've-” I broke off abruptly. No use to bore Alexander with the story of my life. He wouldn't understand anyway. I bit into my balled fist and closed my eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

“Bagoas? Bagoas, look at me.” 

But I just shook my head. I was having enough. I wasn't a toy to play with.

“Whatever you think I might do to you, you're mistaken. I'm not... I never found joy in hurting others. But I also... don't really know... what to do... with you.”

“I'm sure you've learned enough from Hephaistion to get an idea how to go about things.” Did he truly expect me to orchestrate my own rape?

“I've no idea what you think is going on between me and Hephaistion, but it never prepared me to find myself drawn to someone like you.”

At this confession I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He responded with an almost shy smile, sitting back until he kneeled between my parted thighs.

“But you and him...” It suddenly dawned on me. By now I'd heard enough Greeks and Macedonians talk about these things that I had figured out that there was often one who took and one who gave in their relationships.

So Alexander was only used to taking it...?

Before whatever was happening here could go on I had to make sure of something.

“Are you going to kill me?” I asked.

“Kill you?” Alexander chuckled but then seemed to sense that I was serious. “Because you spoke openly to me? No. As I said, I appreciate your honesty. I need someone who explains the Persian side of things to me, how I am perceived by your people. I don't put stock in yea-sayers.”

“So you won't punish me?” I had to hear him say it.

He shook his head. “No, of course not.” His golden hair shone almost red in the dying fire-light. He looked suddenly impossible young.

I sat up myself, clambering into his lap. I dared to touch his unruly mane, carding my fingers through the thick strands, and allowed myself to relax a little. I remembered Oromedon showing me to pleasure a king. “Would you like me to teach you what to do with me?” I murmured against the skin of his neck.

“Yes.”

I licked his shoulder in response, tasting just a hint of salty sweat. He smelled sweet, almost like the flowers that grew in the courts of the harem at Babylon.

“Then lie back.” I pushed at his chest, softly, and he sank down, staring up at me.

First, I took off his belt. Then I loosened the clasps holding his chiton together on his shoulders, pushing the fabric covering him aside.

Having him on full display in front of me, it was now me kissing down his broad chest, mouthing first at his scars and then at his nipples until I felt him to go slack at these ministrations. Yet he didn't touch me. Neither did he push me lower where he obviously wanted my attention, judging by what was poking me in the chest.

He sighed softly when I moved lower.

His cock was much like the rest of him, not too large but somewhat well-proportioned, thick and veined. First, I nuzzled the fair hair surrounding it, again surprised by his fresh smell. Even as I licked his slit he tasted not sharp but sweet like honey.

Only when I sucked him into my mouth did he grab a fistful of my hair, pulling my face back up.

“What are you doing?”

I wondered if no on had ever...? That couldn't be true. He couldn't be this innocent. Or could he?

“Just let me.” I whispered, my left hand stroking the downy inside of his muscled thigh.

After a moment, Alexander released me with a small nod. He inhaled sharply as I swallowed him down again. I took him slow and careful as not to spook him, just barely massaging him with my tongue, letting my lips and throat do most of the work. When I was sure I would be able to take him deep, I grabbed his right hand and brought it around my throat to feel himself move inside me.

“Bagoas...” He moaned as he stroked my neck, and when I dared to look up at him, his eyes were almost as dark as my hair.

I released him. Now fully hard, his cock slipped from my mouth with a wet sound and slapped against his chiselled abs, twitching in a pool of my drool.

I looked around for some oil or salve but couldn't find any. Well, then, lets hope I made his cock wet enough.

I grabbed its base and leaned forward, kissing Alexander to stop myself from hissing with the pain I knew was about to shoot up my spine as I positioned myself above him.

But his vice-like grip at my hip stopped me.

“It's been a while, I admit it, but shouldn't you be prepared with something slick?”

“It's fine.” I breathed. I was so close to reaching my goal, I couldn't abort things now due to lack of grease. Darius had never much bothered with it anyway as he'd liked me as dry as possible to heighten his own sensation.

“Is it something to do with your...” Alexander made a gesture towards my groin with his free hand. “Like, as it is with women?” So he had been with a woman after all. That knowledge would win me a nice amount of silver from the old palace eunuchs. 

“Yes.” I lied and closed my eyes as I felt his hand slip away. “Just take me, my king. I'm all yours. Don't worry about me.”

But it had been a while for me, too, and I couldn't stop my body from tensing as he pushed up into me. Yet his satisfied growl drowned out my sharp gasp.

I forced myself down onto him, burying my face in the crook of his strong neck, biting my lips until I tasted copper.

Why had he be so thick?

I felt like split in half.

When he was fully inside me, I started to rock back and forth, encouraging him to thrust up into me. I was sure he wouldn't last long if this was his first time doing it like this. With Darius, at this point, it had been almost over. With him it had been much more work to get him interested in the first place, as his age and the wine had taken its toll.

But as in war, Alexander proved to possess astounding stamina in bed.

“Bagoas.” He moaned my name, pulling me into a deep kiss. I welcomed the sensation, trying to lose myself in it – but then he suddenly stopped moving.

Had I done something wrong? I rolled my hips, sure that he had been close but couldn't have finished yet. My belly cramped, pain burning bright deep inside my guts, but I only had to hold it together just a moment longer...

“Stop it.” Alexander's tone was sharp, bearing no resistance. My body stilled. “You are crying.” His thumb brushed my cheek. “What is it?” He asked way too tenderly for a king to speak to someone like me.

“It's the throes of passion-”

“Shut up. You're in pain.” He pulled out and with one swift motion lifted me off his body and threw me on my stomach. Then he was up and behind me, spreading my legs wide, pushing my left thigh as high on the bed as possible...

I felt totally exposed, too vulnerable to even dare to protest, awaiting a new onslaught. But what touched me there wasn't his cock, but two cool, wet fingers.

“You're such a fool. I told you I don't enjoy hurting my lovers. I'm so sorry, I think you're even bleeding... Bagoas, what did you think?” He sounded more worried than angry. Not used to such a treatment, I buried my face in a pillow, too embarrassed to answer.

I heard him get up, too humiliated to look what he was doing. A moment later he was back, touching my hole with what felt like a soothing salve.

'Great, I wouldn't be able to sit for days and didn't even get him off as a reward.' I had totally failed.

“Iskander, I-”

“Hush, you stupid boy.” I felt his fingers play with me, his breathing warm and heavy at the small of my back. I moaned when he placed a kiss there, his palms cupping the mounts of my buttocks.

“You are so... I'm not sure our language is adequate to express how you make me feel. I need...”

“Yes, I need you too, Iskander.” Despite my schooling I became aware that I was humping the bed, feeling a wet spot beneath my groin. The sharp pain was numbed by another feeling I hadn't experienced since my early days with Oromedon.

“You like that, me touching you like this?” Alexander's voice was rough, barely a whisper. I fisted the bedlinen, purring as he started to massage my taint with two slick fingers, pressing onto a spot inside me that made me see stars.

“Iskander.” I gasped, this time in absolute bliss.

But then his hand was smearing salve onto the inside of my thighs. “I've heard about this in the stables back in Pella, when I grew up. I used to hang out with the common soldiers there. Close your legs. That's it.”

I did as I was told, and the next moment I felt him push into the slick, tight space between my thighs, his strong hands holding me around my waist.

“Yes, that's... oh!” He pressed his forehead between my shoulder-blades while his cock rubbed my taint, no balls stopping his movement. Then I felt him shudder against me. He bid my shoulder, my neck, then kissed the marks, and the sensation of sharp pain contrasted with that gentle press of lips made me feel dizzy.

I relaxed under his weight, succumbed to his embrace, his strength, his warmth.

“You're the most exquisite thing-” He'd stopped moving, I realized, and seemed to be sitting up behind me. I heard him make a strangled sound and then hot semen hit the small of my back. I was quick to spread my legs, and Alexander caught the hint and directed the next spurt to hit my abused hole, soothing some of my pain with his sacred seed.

I heard him suck in his breath at the sight and the sheer obscenity of it pushed me over the edge too. My body convulsed in a long shudder, making me curl my toes as I bit the pillow.

“Let me hear you.” Alexander said, pulling my head up by his hand twisting my hair, and I allowed a sharp, low moan to escape my lips. Just for him.

“Yes, oh yes...” He kissed me, deep and wild, more teeth than tongue and lips, yet still somewhat gentle. I arched my back, my hips stuttering, and then a sweet, unknown agony flooded my limbs, making me go all limp.

When he was spend, he let go of my hair, his hands just stroking my sweaty back. I felt his thumb circle lower, carefully pushing some of his still warm wetness into me, his finger softly caressing my entrance. “Next time... we'll do it properly. When you've recovered.” He pressed a tended kiss against my cheek, as hairless as his. “Bagoas, look at me.”

I turned around. Alexander was flushed pink, his chest blotchy red down to a scar beneath his ribs. Without thinking, I brought my hand up to touch it. He was staring at me intensely.

“Thank you, Bagoas.”

I just nodded. What could you say when a king had just shot his seed all over you?

I was about to get up and leave, maybe call for a bath being prepared for him, but Alexander lay down beside me and gathered me up in his arms, pulling a thin blanket over both of us. With my head resting on his chest I could hear his heart beat fast and steady. The air smelled of the sea, the dying fire and a sweet musk that I would come to associate with our lovemaking.

“I need you to teach me more of your language.” Alexander said sleepily. I'd never seen or heard him this calm, almost lazy.

“Of course, Iskander.”

He laughed a little at me butchering his name, but it was a good-natured laugh, friendly and full of warmth.

“Then tell me, Bagoas, what does beautiful mean in your tongue?”

I smiled against his rosy skin. “We have many words to admire beauty, Iskander.”

He tipped my face up with two fingers beneath my chin. 

“Teach me all. I'll need them.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ancient history isn't my strong suit. I hope I didn't butcher ancient Persian history...? I tried to do my research but it's such a rich, complexe culture... All mistakes are mine, please correct me.


End file.
